


Fae-tal Attraction

by Suzie_Shooter



Category: Rivers of London - Ben Aaronovitch
Genre: Awkward Conversations, First Time, Kissing, Love Potion/Spell, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Beverley Brook/Peter Grant, Morning After, Unprotected Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:14:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,917
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23391547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suzie_Shooter/pseuds/Suzie_Shooter
Summary: A fleeing suspect hits Peter and Nightingale with a lust spell. It goes about how you'd expect.
Relationships: Peter Grant/Thomas Nightingale
Comments: 28
Kudos: 120





	Fae-tal Attraction

While I’d be the first to admit that the amount of magical skill required to incapacitate an apprentice wizard might not be of the highest order, it takes a great deal more to blind-side the Nightingale, which is why I refused to let myself feel too bad afterwards for letting it happen.

We’d arrived at the building round about lunchtime to interview one of the tenants on a matter of handling stolen goods – deeply, nastily cursed stolen goods in this instance, hence our particular interest. Veryan Dalgliesh lived in what our American colleagues would probably have optimistically referred to as a loft apartment, I thought of as more of an attic conversion, and as we trudged up the stairs I distinctly heard Nightingale mutter the word ‘garret’.

What we hadn’t bargained on was for the suspect to turn out to be full-blooded fae, or for her response to our polite enquiry into the current whereabouts of the cursed necklace to be a sudden and immediate magical offensive.

It was the nature of the attack that caught us napping. We’d both felt the shift in the air and in the same split-second where I was still thinking ‘oh fuck’ Nightingale had thrown up a shield to protect us – and if the spell had been the punchy energy blast we both expected, it would have worked. What happened was something of a different order entirely. It shivered through us, a half-visible ripple in the air like a heat-haze, and I stumbled.

Nightingale turned to help me up, and that should have been my first indication that something was wrong – having satisfied himself I was unharmed he should have been proceeding in a sharpish fashion after the suspect currently disappearing down the stairs. That it didn’t strike me as odd I can see with hindsight was me being as dazed as he was, but at the time all I could think about was how good his hand felt in mine – warm, dry and strong as he pulled me back to my feet.

We stared at each other, our suspect forgotten, our hands still clasped. 

“Peter.” 

My name on his lips, heavy with significance in such a low and raspy tone should have made me blush. What it did was make me hard in seconds, and it was me who closed the gap between us, until I was close enough to feel his breath on my cheek. 

His kiss, when it came, was all I’d hoped – firm, tender, passionate – and if my knees were suddenly weak my groin was certainly making up for things in the stiffness department.

There was a futon bed in the corner behind us and we were already undressing as Nightingale guided me backwards towards it, dropping me to the duvet and divesting us of the rest of our clothes in very short order.

Looking back I’m grateful for the impression that the bedding was freshly laundered, because frankly at that moment we’d have screwed on anything up to and including the bare floorboards without noticing.

We obviously hadn’t come equipped for such an intimate liaison but it turned out that a man who can conjure a globe of water at will had no problems with something a little more viscous.

For a second my rational brain seized on the question of exactly what the chemical composition of magically generated lube would be and it might even have been enough to pull me out of it, but then Nightingale’s hand closed around my straining cock and all rational thought went out the window.

–

There probably are more embarrassing things than waking up to find yourself curled around your superior officer with your head resting on his bare chest, but I was hard-pressed to think of any at the moment I did exactly that. It came mixed with an odd swooping sense of dislocation – the knowledge that the emotions and connection we’d shared weren’t real hit me in the stomach as if I’d been unexpectedly dumped.

Nightingale stirred a moment after I did, and I only realised he’d had his arm round me at the point he took it away.

“Peter.” He was looking at me with a slightly frozen awkwardness and it belatedly occurred to me I should probably stop spooning him. I scooted backwards so fast I nearly fell off the futon, and he instinctively reached out to save me.

He’d only grabbed my forearm but the renewed contact made both of us gasp.

Nightingale let go again as if I’d scalded him, and I shook my head vigorously to clear the fog.

“What was that?” I asked, thankful that my voice came out steady. I could tell Nightingale had been about to apologise or something equally awful, and I desperately wanted him to know that whatever had just happened between us we were in it together and it wasn’t his fault or responsibility just because I was his pupil. “Sex pollen or something?”

Nightingale just quirked an eyebrow at that, then did what he always does when I come out with something he finds baffling which was to ignore it entirely.

“A glamour, of sorts. She must have been a succubus.” He sat up as he spoke, and I was relieved to hear him sounding more normal. I didn’t think we could pretend this hadn’t happened, I wasn’t even sure I wanted to, but treating it as something that had been done to us rather than something we’d done to each other (vigorously, repeatedly and ultimately quite messily) meant we could probably get past it.

“I thought they were supposed to have sex with you, not give you the hots for someone else?”

Nightingale opened his mouth then closed it again rather abruptly and cleared his throat. There are times when I wish I could maintain the skill of running things through my head before actually saying them.

“Whatever works, I suppose,” Nightingale said vaguely. “I imagine one would be more useful than the other if you were intent on escaping the constabulary.” He looked at his watch, which was the only thing he was still wearing, and frowned. “We’ve been asleep for nearly four hours.” 

I actually managed not to say _‘well we were probably quite tired by that point’_ out loud which I’d like to think of as personal growth.

“Are you alright?” 

I looked up in surprise, to find Nightingale regarding me with a reserved concern.

“Um. Yes?” I must have looked suitably blank because Nightingale gave a pained wince and made himself elaborate.

“I didn’t – hurt you?”

“Oh.” I’d been wrong. There were more embarrassing things. “No,” I said hastily, shaking my head like a wet dog for good measure. “It was - ” 

I hesitated, mentally cursing myself for starting another sentence. What could I say? It had been the most incredible sex of my life? At the time it had certainly felt that way, but now the glamour was fading I was starting to feel cold, awkward and yes, more than a little sore. I suppose as first time anal sex goes, being off your tits on magical inhibition suppressants is probably a good thing, but none of these seemed suitable responses to Nightingale, who was still waiting patiently and a little anxiously for me to process my thoughts.

“Fine. It’s fine,” I finished lamely. 

Nightingale nodded, and looked like he wanted to say more but didn’t know how. I sympathised. It was odd, the way we were both still sitting here next to each other, almost reluctant to move.

“The influence of these things can – linger, for a while,” Nightingale said, and I realised with a faint shock we’d been slowly leaning towards each other. 

“Right.” I swallowed, moving back again, feeling dizzy.

“We should probably avoid each other for a couple of days,” Nightingale advised. “Let it wear off. Take the rest of the week. I’ll see you on Monday.”

I wondered if I’d imagined the faintly questioning tone to that last part. To be fair to Nightingale he was probably afraid I’d run for the hills after what we’d just done. I wasn’t entirely sure why I wasn’t. Part of me wanted to crawl back into the circle of his arms and go back to sleep. Another part of me - 

I leapt to my feet before the part in question could fully respond to the half-formed thought, and while I was aware this gave Nightingale an unimpeded view of my bare arse, it was better than the alternative. I struggled into my jeans sans underwear, keeping my back resolutely turned until all the incriminating evidence was safely tucked out of view.

“Perhaps you would be good enough to, er - ” Nightingale gestured towards his trousers and I handed them to him, turning my back again politely while he emerged from under the covers and put them on. While scrambling into the rest of my own clothes I took the opportunity to study the rest of the flat, not at all on the off-chance there might have been a strategically placed mirror or two to check out the view behind me. 

I was out of luck, and Nightingale coughed discreetly to let me know I could turn around again. 

“What do we do about Veryan?” I asked, belatedly remembering why we’d come here in the first place. 

“Leave her to me. Safer if I tackle her alone, I think.”

I experienced a spike of regret, but could see the sense in it. We were never going to take her down if we ended up screwing like weasels every time we got within range. 

“Oh well. Could have been worse.”

Nightingale looked enquiring and I shrugged. “I mean – one of us could have come up here with Guleed or someone. At least I can’t get pregnant.”

Nightingale’s eyes widened as he took my meaning. He’d magicked up the lube, for which I was eternally grateful, but sorcerous condoms had apparently been a stretch too far, and possibly hadn’t even occurred to him given his default generational mindset. 

“I’m sorry, I – I should have thought.”

“I don’t think either of us was doing much thinking.” I smiled to let him know it wasn’t a problem. I mean, I presumed it wasn’t, but truth be told I had absolutely no idea what the man’s sex life might have been like.

“I assure you I’m – healthy,” Nightingale said carefully, and frankly by this point I was starting to wonder if Veryan’s weaponised glamour had been crafted from embarrassment magic rather than lust.

“Yeah. Me too. I mean – I’m clean, yeah,” I replied, and somehow against all the odds we were smiling at each other, the ridiculousness of the situation overriding everything else. “I’ll see you Monday then.”

“Yes.” He sounded relieved. “Will you tell Beverley what happened?” he asked after a pause.

“I think I have to,” I said reluctantly. 

He nodded. “She will at least be familiar with such beings. She shouldn’t – hold it against you?”

I hoped not. I really did. If only in terms of the prospective flood damage to the surrounding suburban areas.

–

A couple of hours later, I was starting to question the wisdom of my honesty. Despite Nightingale’s assurances, I’d been braced for anger or even tears. What I hadn’t been expecting was for Bev, having satisfied herself that I wasn’t actually traumatised by the events, to start helplessly laughing.

She’d been doing it for quite some time now, and my initial relief was sliding into exasperation. 

“Yeah, alright, it’s not that funny.”

She stifled the last hiccuping giggles and fixed me with a beady eye. “It is quite funny. Your _face_.”

I gave her a look and she started laughing again.

“Well, I’m glad you’re taking it so well,” I sighed.

“I never knew you fancied him,” Bev said slyly. That stopped me in my tracks, and I looked at her. 

“I don’t.”

She cocked her head on one side and regarded me with an uncomfortably perceptive stare. 

“He didn’t explain?”

“Explain what?”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t say. If Thomas didn’t.”

The knowledge that my own girlfriend was more comfortable using the first name of the man I’d just slept with than I was rankled slightly, although I took comfort in the fact that at least I hadn’t called him ‘sir’ in the throes of passion. At least I didn’t think I had.

With some difficulty I managed to hang on to the more important train of thought. “Tell me. Explain what?”

Beverley sighed. “You know how there are some people who can’t be hypnotised? Or at least not easily?”

I nodded, not seeing in the slightest how this was relevant.

“Well, I suppose it’s kind’ve the same. People have different reactions to that kind of influence. It’s based on lust, not force. Say you’d been with someone you hated, or found repulsively unattractive. You probably wouldn’t have ended up in bed with them, is all I’m saying.”

“So – asexuals would be immune?” I suggested, deciding that concentrating on the wider scientific ramifications was safer than my specific circumstances. 

“Probably. There has to be something there for it to work on, is what I’m saying.”

While I might have conceded nursing a latent attraction to Nightingale with only a minimum of bullying, it belatedly occurred to me that this meant he was also attracted to me.

“Fuck.”

Beverly started snickering again. 

–

When I woke the next morning I was alone in the bed, Beverly having gone out with the dawn to do whatever river goddesses did at that time of the morning. It felt like my dreams had been unsettled even if I couldn’t remember the details – although my incipient case of morning wood suggested the direction of them.

I let my hand drift downwards, palming myself idly and closing my eyes against the sun falling through the curtains. I hadn’t consciously intended to think of Nightingale but somehow he immediately came to mind. It was the first time I’d really allowed myself to recall what we’d done in any detail and I bit my lip as the memories rolled over me. Nightingale above me, on top of me. His mouth on my skin, his hands moving with skilled purpose. Nightingale moving inside me, long, slow thrusts that made me bury my face in his neck and groan aloud, clutching him to me as he brought me to a shaking, devastating climax.

I flopped back against the pillows, breathing hard as my release soaked into the fabric of my t-shirt. It belatedly occurred to me that Nightingale’s parting advice to shake off the glamour had been not just for us to spend a few days apart but to pay it as little mind as possible in the meantime. Whoops.

–

Monday morning I found Nightingale alone in the breakfast room at the Folly, and we exchanged cautious nods as I helped myself to coffee. 

“Everything alright?” he enquired, and I realised he meant with Bev.

“Yeah. No problems.” I lowered myself into a seat and gave him a sheepish smile. “She thought it was funny.”

I noticed him relax a fraction and wondered if he’d been worrying he’d caused me problems at home, or if he was just glad we were at least apparently going to be able to refer to what had happened like civilised adults.

Nightingale had taken his suit jacket off to eat his breakfast, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. This wasn’t necessarily an unusual sight, but I did find myself rather more preoccupied by the sight of his forearms than was normally the case.

“Peter?”

“Hmmn?” My head jerked upwards as with a spike of embarrassment I realised he’d been talking to me. “Sorry sir, what?”

Whatever he’d said Nightingale didn’t immediately repeat it, just stared at me for a disconcertingly long moment.

“Never mind. Are you ready?” He got to his feet and headed for the door, at which point I realised he was just as distracted as me because he’d left his jacket behind in his abrupt need to be moving. 

“Sir?” I snagged it off the chair and held it out to him.

“Oh. Yes, thank you.” Our fingers brushed as he took it, and I couldn’t in all honesty say I hadn’t positioned my hand so they would. It was only when I was following him down the stairs that I realised that he could quite easily have avoided the touch if he’d wanted to – and hadn’t.

It was going to be a long day.

–

In the end the day passed surprisingly quickly, thanks in part to the need to dispose of the cursed necklace that Nightingale had indeed recovered over the weekend, and in part to the not entirely unrelated incident of the exploding troll. It was late when we parted and I was halfway to the car when I realised my shirt and trousers were still smeared with troll juice. I still had some clothes in the Folly so I doubled back and let myself in.

Deciding I didn’t need to bother Nightingale I ran up two flights to my old room and stopped. The door was standing open and I’d definitely left it firmly shut. I figured that Molly was probably just cleaning in there, but experience breeds caution and I approached with a certain amount of stealth.

What I didn’t expect to find was Nightingale standing in the middle of the floor with his back to the door, apparently surveying the room at something of a loss. 

I leant against the doorframe but he was so lost in thought he didn’t notice the movement. 

“Come up here often sir?”

He visibly jumped, and I had a moment to reflect that I’d never seen him with his guard so low in the whole time I’d known him.

“Peter! I, ah – I was just – looking – for, er – for...” he tailed off, perhaps sensing that I wasn’t buying the excuse he was fumbling for any more than he was.

“For me?” I said quietly. I spent most of my nights with Beverley now, and it hadn’t occurred to me that he might actually miss my presence, on any level.

“Well, I...” 

I walked into the room and closed the door quietly behind me. He looked surprised at that, although he caught on quickly enough in the time it took me to reach him.

“I’ve got gunk on me,” I explained, ruefully holding out my soiled sleeve for inspection.

“I thought his name was Yuri?”

I grinned then. “I did think you might offer to help me out of these filthy clothes?”

Nightingale gave a sigh that even to my ears was steeped in longing. “Oh Peter. I’m far too old for you, and I hardly need to remind you that you are not a free agent.”

“Bev doesn’t mind,” I said, and it was true. We’d had a Conversation before I’d left that morning, and she’d made it clear I was at liberty to do as I pleased as long as I told her what I was up to. I was hoping she hadn’t meant in actual detail, but you never quite knew. 

I’d thought at the time she was just particularly broad-minded, but having had time to think about it further I’d developed the nasty suspicion she might be hoping a liaison between me and Nightingale might stand her in good stead in any future boundary disputes. These are the things you have to consider when your girlfriend is also technically a territory. 

Nightingale looked briefly surprised but conceded the point with a shrug. “The demi-monde has always lived to a different set of rules from the rest of us. That doesn’t change the other thing. I’m not just old enough to be your father, I’m old enough to be your gr- ”

I shut him up via the time honoured method of kissing him. The enthusiasm with which he kissed back lead me to suspect his protests had been for form’s sake rather than any deep-seated objection to the idea, which was a relief.

The bed was neatly made up, and this time it was me who pushed Nightingale over to it, straddling his lap and doing my best to convince him without the need for any more awkward conversations that this was how the rest of the evening should go, thank you.

Judging by the erection I could feel already pushing insistently against mine, he wasn’t going to take a lot of convincing. 

–

This time when I woke up the next morning sprawled across Nightingale’s chest I merely stretched luxuriously and settled back down against him. The arm curled protectively around me tightened a little, and he smiled without opening his eyes.

“Does this mean I can call you Thomas now?” I murmured, and his smile widened delightedly.

“You always could have. What time is it?”

“Breakfast time, by the smell of it.” I frowned. The smell of bacon and sausages was stronger than it should have been given how far away from the breakfast room we were. 

The same thought appeared to occur to Nightingale at the same time and we locked eyes for a moment before turning to look over at the dressing table. It bore a large tray with two gleaming serving domes and a silver coffee pot.

“Oh God,” I said faintly.

Nightingale just looked amused. “She obviously decided we were unlikely to make it downstairs before it went cold.”

“How thoughtful.” I wasn’t sure how I felt about Molly gliding in and watching us while we slept, but I also wasn’t sure we’d ever be able to stop her if she so chose. 

“Well. Given that it’s there, and you’re closest, would you mind awfully pouring me some coffee?” 

I laughed indignantly and mock-slapped him. He captured my hand and pulled me in for a kiss.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly. 

“What, last night wasn’t enough to convince you?” I smiled, then suddenly wondered if he was worried I was still affected by the glamour. “I’m sure. I’m not under the influence or anything.”

Nightingale nodded slowly. “You realise of course, that it’s a terrible idea?”

“You do want it too?” I asked, in a sudden panic that it might have been him who was still under the influence last night. But he nodded, and my heart-rate returned to something approaching normal. 

“More than anything.”

I was relieved, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t hear the ‘but’ hovering unsaid in the background. I could ignore it, but... But.

“But?”

Nightingale cupped my face in his hand and stroked his thumb across my cheek, gazing at me as if he had only seconds to commit every inch of my face to memory.

“There was someone else that I cared for, once,” Nightingale said quietly. “A long time ago. I lost him. I don’t think I could go through that again.”

“You’re not going to lose me,” I insisted, covering his hand with my own. Nightingale just looked at me and even I had to concede the number of times I’d escaped death by the narrowest of margins in the last year alone wasn’t exactly the most reassuring of records. 

“So what’s the alternative? You shut yourself up in here and never risk anything?” I asked, more roughly than I’d meant to. I’d opened my mouth to take it back when he gave me an unexpected smile.

“Never stop surprising me, Peter,” he murmured. And kissed me.

–


End file.
